


They Try to Make Me Go to Rehab

by Wolvesandwerewolves



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Mentions of overdosing, Overdose, Recreational Drug Use, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:41:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23661748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolvesandwerewolves/pseuds/Wolvesandwerewolves
Summary: Klaus is fifteen. It’s his first day back from the hospital.He’s sober now, but he knows it won’t last.
Relationships: Ben Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves
Comments: 4
Kudos: 64





	They Try to Make Me Go to Rehab

Klaus lies idly in his bed, still damp from the bath, towel wrapped loosely around his waist. The door to his bedroom is open, just a crack, just enough to hear Vanya’s soft violin in the next room over. He’d pushed a chair and a pile of Ben’s old books up against it, earlier, so no one can come in easily, unannounced or without tripping. He wants to be alone right now. 

He’s exhausted. Possibly on the verge of a breakdown, or maybe on the verge of sleep. Sometimes it’s hard to tell. 

It’s his first day back from the hospital. The ID bracelet still hangs off the bones of his wrist, and the back of his hand is still bruised, a mottled, ugly purple from the IV, stark against his pale skin.

Diego came to pick him up from the hospital, even though it was technically illegal; none of them had their licenses, yet, and wouldn’t even be old enough for another two months. But he came, and as they were driving back to the Academy, said that they went through his room, threw out all his trash. Ben, at least, was glad for it. _A new start,_ he’d said. _Stay clean,_ Diego had said back, as if listening in on Ben’s side of the conversation. Klaus, for his part, tried very hard not to crawl out of his own skin at every ghost they passed by, at every gentle admonishment and encouragement his brothers said to him. He’d made a joke, instead, and laughed when no one else did. 

He doesn’t remember what was so funny anymore. 

“What are you thinking about?” Ben asks, voice quiet, barely a whisper, as if he’s afraid the others will hear him. 

They won’t. He’s dead. Klaus can hardly hear him, and he’s the only one who can. He’s drowned out by the soft record playing in the corner, _Ain’t Got No_ by Nina Simone very appropriately playing in the background of their sister’s violin. Other than that, and the sounds of the ghosts only he and Ben can hear, the house is quiet. He’s not sure where their other siblings are. Training, maybe. Or out, getting donuts at Griddy’s without Four and Seven (or Six or Five). Or maybe they’re all in their respective rooms, quietly waiting for the other shoe to drop. Klaus is finding it hard to care any or either way. 

He sighs, closes his eyes. Man, he’s so tired.

“Klaus?” Ben says. He’s lying on the bed next to him, shoulder to shoulder, even though there’s not much room for him. Part of one leg disappears into the wall he’s against, one arm embedded inside of Klaus’s, leaving it cold and tingling.

Klaus shrugs, the movement slow, lazy. He wishes he was high. He misses the drugs, how quiet it was with them. How peaceful. Numb.

He doubts they had been able to find everything—after all, no one’s power is X-ray vision, and thank God for that—but most of his hidden contraband was thrown out, discarded. The weed hidden in his sock drawer, gone. The pills buried within the old uniforms he doesn’t bother with anymore. The baggie of crack and his only pipe, both concealed in an old, hollowed out book Ben had given him. They’d even thrown out the condoms in the drawer of his nightstand, which is so, _so_ stupid. 

“At least they didn’t find what’s underneath the bed,” Klaus whispers, a slight rattle in his chest and a smile on his lips. 

Ben rolls his eyes. But he doesn’t leave him. He’s stayed for the entire six months since his death. Even before that, he stayed by Klaus’s side. “Are you talking about your stash hidden in the wall, or the ghost and blood stains?”

Klaus laughs, and it sounds a bit hysterical, even to him. He gasps, and holds his breath to make sure he stays quiet. Even sober, and he still feels a mess. Or maybe it’s worse, sober. Maybe it’s just his personality. 

That’d be a shame.

“Well, they’re not likely to find either.”

“Right,” Ben says, sarcastic and maybe a little bit sad. “Not like they don’t walk through me every other day.”

“You and every other ghost,” Klaus says softly, all humor suddenly gone, even as he tries to hold on to it.

The house is full of ghosts, and no one notices but him. 

Like the woman in the kitchen, passing through Mom every time she cooks, and all his siblings every time they get a snack or a drink. She’s nice enough. She never speaks to him, but sometimes she’ll hum a lullaby and mime cooking. Sometimes Klaus smells cookies, even though Mom hasn’t made anything. There’s blood on the back of her head, skull caved in, and dripping down the back of her neck. 

There’s the man in the attic, where Alison and Luther’s ‘secret’ fort hides. He’s old, white-grey hair at his temples, age spots on his hands. His eyes are bloodshot. Klaus isn’t sure how he died. All he ever does is cry, whimpers for someone named Melissa. 

There’s the man halfway under his bed, mewling, choking on his sobs. Sometimes he seems more scared of Klaus than Klaus is of him. That’s a relief, and a rare one at that, especially given his state. He died violently. The blood stains invisibly on his bedroom floor, soaks through his dirty rug. The handle of the hatchet in his back sometimes pokes out from the bed, or sometimes through it. 

He never shuts up. None of them ever shut up. 

Not without the drugs, at least. But he thinks, even if the drugs didn’t quiet them, Klaus would still do them. He loves the feeling. And the last time, when he accidentally took too much and Luther found him not breathing on the couch, was the best. 

Sometimes Klaus has dreams that he can step out of his own body, take his spirit for a spin around town, leave everything and his body behind. He and Ben could do anything. 

When he overdosed, it felt like that. It was dizzying, but oh, so fun. He had seen himself lying there, eyes wide open, facedown on the edge of couch with vomit trailing out the side of his mouth, and thought— _Oh, that’s gross._

And then he thought, _Oh, that’s me!_

And then Ben punched him, right in the jaw, but instead of his hand passing through like it always did, it _connected_ , and Klaus jerked away. 

It was the best he’d felt in years. Like he was floating, almost.

“Can you float, Ben?”

Beside him, Ben hums. “If I could, do you think I’d be lying here with you?”

“Of course,” he jokes. “You love me.”

“Yeah,” Ben says. His moth sounds dry. Klaus wonders, idly, if Ben died thirsty. “So does Diego. And Luther, and Alison and Vanya.”

“Luther, really?”

“You should’ve seen him when he found you.”

That was exactly what Klaus didn’t want to see. And there were parts of the house they’d never been to, areas that needed exploring. Once Ben was done punching him, and then hugging him and punching him again, Klaus dragged him away from his body before anyone found him. They wandered around the house, looking for the secret doors and hidden rooms Five always used to brag about. 

But then Luther started screaming for help, and Ben left to watch them, and so Klaus stood there alone. He couldn’t force himself to go back to his own body. He didn’t want to.

“Maybe I’ll pay more attention next time.” 

Ben sighs, but doesn’t say anything. Instead, he shifts on the bed, enough to sit up, and pulls the folded over book out of his sweatshirt pocket. He must have read it a hundred times by now. 

Klaus is pretty sure it’s titled, _Shut Up, Klaus_ , by Ben Hargreeves. _I Need a Break From You,_ by Ben Hargreeves. _Klaus, You’re Being a Dumbass_ , by Ben Hargreeves. 

“You know you’re talking out loud, right?” Ben asks. Klaus glances over at him, and his mouth is crooked up on the side, like he’s trying not to smile. 

“ _Klaus, You’re so Funny, and a Joy to Be Around, I’m Never Going to Leave and Also I Think Drugs Sound Pretty Nice Right Around Now, by Ben Hargreeves.”_

“I think a nap sounds pretty nice right about now,” Ben says. “And that would never fit on the cover.” 

“Shame.” 

Ben snorts, shakes his head fondly. “It really is. Go to sleep, Klaus.”

Klaus hums, closing his eyes and shifting. He focuses on the sound of Vanya next door, still practicing. Maybe that’s what’s making him so tired.

“I’ll wake you if anything interesting happens.”

“Promise?” 

There’s the sound of ruffling as Ben turns a page. “Promise.”

**Author's Note:**

> For now, this is just a quick little one shot to get me back into writing (thanks quarantine!) It may eventually evolve into a small series featuring (spoiler!) Klaus discovering a fun new power, and learning to make his spirit leave his body at will. It comes with the unfortunate side effect of leaving his corpse effectively, well, corpse-like and, without a pulse. *que horrified and confused siblings, and maybe a bonding moment*
> 
> PS I read that in comics Klaus died, possessed the people who killed him, and came back to life (with a few steps in between) and then this just sort of happened, I guess
> 
> EDIT: this idea has expanded a little bit, and you can read the updated/inspired version if you click on my name and look under my UA works. it’s called ‘close your eyes and slip into the comforting embrace of—‘
> 
> :)


End file.
